Coming Home
by DawningStar
Summary: 2008 Movie. Sequel to Protecting the Racers. In ten years, a lot of things have changed...but not the most important ones. The Racers begin to learn about the man Rex became. Part five: Rex and Pops clear some things up.
1. Chapter 1

Coming Home

by Dawn

_Note: This is a sequel, and if you haven't read Protecting the Racers yet you'll be lost. I wasn't expecting to have a sequel started so soon, but here we are. I blame the reviewers, especially SerpentsAttire and randomcat23. _

_This story is not yet finished, and I'll be updating it as I complete the chapters. You'll have a longer wait than for Protecting the Racers, but hopefully inspiration won't abandon me. Reviews are great for prodding the characters to talk to me! Anything you like, anything you don't like, I'd love to hear from you. _

Part One

It was hard to tell whether this was closer to a kidnap or a rescue, Speed thought, bemused. It was certainly not sanctioned by the hospital authorities, but when Rex had dropped a pair of red socks on his bed and grinned, protesting was out of the question. For that moment, on a face lit up with mischief, the features hadn't mattered at all and he'd seen his brother just as he remembered him.

The way Rex drove a wheelchair was disturbingly similar to the way he drove a race car, too.

Down several levels at a service entrance, the car waiting for them wasn't yellow, but Speed knew the sound of a well-tuned racing engine when he heard it and the paint job looked suspiciously new. Elena hopped out of it, winked happily at Speed, and pulled her husband down for a long kiss before handing him Racer X's mask and vanishing into the shadows as though she'd never been there.

"Coming, Speed?" his brother asked. "Unless you'd rather take your chances with the reporters out front."

Definitely more of a rescue, Speed decided. "Let's go!"

He kept his head down until they were safely away, which didn't take long, and eventually thought to mention, "Pops does know about this, right?"

"The family knows," Rex assured him. "They agreed it would be better if you didn't go out the front. They'll meet us at the house."

With that issue settled, Speed leaned back in the seat and let the wind relax him. Being trapped in a hospital bed had begun to feel a lot like being trapped in an aquarium, once the nurses had started gossiping about his identity, in spite of Trixie's valiant efforts to defend him. "Thanks, Rex. I needed out of there."

Rex cast him a look, impenetrable under the mask. "You can't call me that, Speed."

"Even when it's just us?" Speed asked, regretting the plaintive tone even as he heard it. It made him sound like a kid, which really wasn't the way he wanted Rex to see him.

"Not even then," Rex said. "It's important to train a habit, so the wrong name never comes out, even under stress. You might notice my wife never calls me by that name."

_Even under stress_ had a frightening sort of ring about it, Speed couldn't help thinking. "You're going to have to give that lecture a lot," he said, to take his mind off it.

The hospital was too public a place to hold the long conversations Speed knew pretty much everyone in the family wanted to have with Rex. It was a debatable point whether Rex had seen this as a disadvantage, or welcomed the delay. In either case, once home, things would change.

The resigned sigh told him Rex knew it, too. "However many times it takes."

"Why is it so important?" He still hadn't really adjusted to the fact of his brother's survival, and looking at the unfamiliar face made it harder. Without the name to hold on to, the memory of Alex's admission was as surreal as a dream.

A pause, long enough that Speed began to wonder if he should rephrase the question. Finally Rex said, "Because if anyone made the connections, my presence would put all of you in danger. Again."

If Rex thought the family was in danger because of him, he would have to leave. Again. And not come back, not for a very long time. If calling his brother by an alias kept him around, Speed would do it and gladly.

Remembering all the protection that Rex and the Inspector seemed to think was necessary for _his_ sake, Speed felt a twinge of guilt. His brother had left to draw the danger away, but Speed had snatched at the chance to win the Grand Prix without ever considering the consequences to his family. If Mom or Pops or Trixie had been in that ill-fated helicopter, and been hurt or killed, he'd never have forgiven himself. "Should I--do that?" he asked, voice sounding small in his own ears. "Leave? If people are shooting missiles at helicopters because I might be in them..."

"No," Rex cut him off, forcefully, and Speed knew it _was_ Rex; that was older-brother panic, not the strategic protest of an agent, and it warmed him to hear it. "No, Speed, you shouldn't." A breath of silence. "The choices I had to make...I never wanted that for you, Speedy."

_Of course not,_ Speed wanted to say, but he could tell his brother was searching for words, and didn't interrupt.

When the words came, slowly, they weren't the ones Speed had expected. "It was after that race at Thunderhead that it started. You remember how everyone wanted me to sign with them."

Speed remembered. He'd been so proud of his big brother, and so sure that Rex would never leave Racer Motors.

"Blackjack Benelli was one of those people. I turned him down. Twice." With Alex's face hidden behind Racer X's mask, it was easy to accept that the man behind it was still Rex, especially when his voice was hoarse with memory. "He made threats, but I didn't take him seriously. And then that bomb--do you remember?"

A flush of guilt heated Speed's face. "I remember." He'd carried the package in himself, pleased to have met a fan of his brother.

"After that, I knew I didn't have a choice..."

* * *

_Eleven years ago_

On the nights when no races were scheduled, Thunderhead track was usually deserted. Few drivers wanted to practice this late, when the spectators were gone. The lone red car hummed at the starting line, eager to run the track with or without competition, but her driver sighed and shut down the engine, ignoring the disappointed note as the car obediently went silent.

For once, Rex Racer had lost all desire to race.

It was well past midnight, and Pops probably thought he was out partying and getting drunk. Rex wished he were; an argument over irresponsibility and underage drinking would have been reassuringly normal, in comparison to the one they were actually going to have.

The one they _needed_ to have, because Rex had no intention of dragging his family with him into the sordid underworld he had no choice but to enter.

The bomb Speed had unwittingly brought home had come within seconds of killing not only Rex, but Speed, Pops, and Speed's completely uninvolved classmate. If Speed hadn't been quite so observant of the stranger's car...if Rex hadn't reacted fast enough...

The sick horror still hadn't faded. No, there was no way he would risk the family again. He'd already made the call, though it had felt like selling his soul to agree to Benelli's terms. Now he just had to make sure his family stayed safely out of the way.

He opened the car door to let the breeze in, and rested his head on the wheel of his car, trying to gather his courage to go back to the house. Putting it off wouldn't make it any easier.

It just gave him a few more minutes as a man with a family, instead of a thug for Benelli.

Something rustled in the still night, and Rex's attention snapped toward the noise, eyes narrowing. "Who's there?"

A dark-skinned girl stepped from the shadows like a ghost, a wry smile touching her full lips. The blue dress that clung to her slim curves matched the beads that clicked softly in multiple braids. "I only want to talk, Mr. Racer," she said, in a lilting, exotic accent.

He frowned at her, trying to remember where he'd seen her before. "Talk? About what?" It came out sharp, but if he was impolite enough that she went away so much the better. The last thing he wanted was a conversation about racing, when all his dreams had become nightmares.

But she said, "About your plans for the future. You have agreed to Mr. Benelli's offer, have you not?"

The name made his gut churn. Rex recognized the girl now, a face in the crowd at the track, and he'd dismissed her then as just another racing fan. She was no older than him, and looked far more innocent. But now he could see a darkness in her eyes that didn't match her age, and he clenched his fists. "You work for him?" he demanded.

"Not at all," the girl said pleasantly. "Quite the opposite. I have a different offer for you."

A derisive breath forced its way out of him. "I've had about enough of offers I can't refuse, thanks anyhow," he snarled. "Go away."

The young woman spread her hands, her eyes wide in a silent plea. "I think you'll like this option better than what you have now," she said in earnest tones, "and of course you _can_ refuse it. But please hear me out first."

It might be a trap, and probably was; some kind of test, to see if he was going to be loyal--and yet...

Against his better judgment, Rex jerked his head for her to continue.

"I work for the C.I.B." The statement was direct and matter-of-fact, with no room in her expression for any of the obvious questions about her youth. "We have been trying to bring Benelli to trial for years now, but we have no proof, no witnesses willing to testify."

Rex had a first-hand understanding of how potential witnesses might be convinced not to do anything against Benelli. He wished the C.I.B. every success, but his family's safety was too high a price to pay, even if he could trust that this girl was truthful and not reporting to Benelli as a test of his loyalty. "I'm not going to spy on anyone." He reached for the ignition.

"Hear me out," the girl commanded again, and Rex found himself pausing without conscious decision as she stepped closer to the car. Her face was open, unguarded, and the shadows in her eyes had the look of bitter knowledge.

"Right now, you don't think you have a choice," she said. "You're probably right, or you would never have agreed. I know a little about you, Rex Racer." She raised her eyebrows slightly. "You are a good man. Following Benelli's orders will be very difficult for you. And eventually, whether in a month, or six months, or a year, there's going to be one you can't follow. What I'm offering you, when that time comes, is a way out."

He hadn't seen where it came from, but there was suddenly a slip of scrap paper in her blue-gloved hand. Rex took it gingerly, looked it over. A corner of a page that might have been torn from anywhere, with a number scribbled in feminine handwriting and a name below it--'Helen'. Perfectly safe for him to carry around.

Her direct gaze was still waiting for him when he raised his head to meet it, and there was a compassion in it that made him want to look away. "A suggestion, Mr. Racer." She reached into his car, and lightly tapped the photo there. "For your family's sake...never admit that you care about them."

Rex swallowed hard. That much he'd already known. "Why should I trust you?" he asked, a little too rough to pretend she hadn't affected him.

The girl's lilting voice dropped abruptly into something closer to a growl. "I swear to you, I would sooner die than help Benelli." The hatred in her eyes couldn't possibly be feigned. "He killed my mother."

And she stepped back, conversation over. "Wait," Rex blurted. "Helen--is that your name?"

He received the faint flicker of a smile in response, thrown over her shoulder. "It's as good a name as any."

Then she was gone.

* * *

_Present_

"And that was Elena? How you met for the first time?" Speed asked, fascinated. He didn't quite see how the story applied to the issue at hand, but it didn't matter. Every scrap of information about how his brother had spent the long years apart made the gap between them feel a little smaller.

Rex nodded. "Not that I had any idea who she was."

He'd guessed some of the pressures Rex had been under, once he'd realized the extent that corporate corruption had penetrated the sport of racing, but hearing it first-hand was still difficult. Especially since he'd had absolutely no idea about any of it while it was happening.

"I wish you'd told us." The words slipped out before he could catch them, although the last thing he wanted to do was make his brother feel any worse about the whole thing. Too late to stop now, though. "Even if you'd still had to leave, we could have tried to help. We'd've understood what you were doing."

Rex slapped the wheel sharply enough to make Speed jump in his seat. "That's it exactly, Speed!" he said, low and intense. "I _should_ have told you. I was so worried about keeping you all out of danger that I took away your right to choose."

Speed made the connection. "That's why you think I should stay. Because everyone's already shown they'd rather go through this with me, whatever happens." Even well aware of the danger--Rex's death, then the attacks by ninjas and thugs, had made it quite clear--the family had supported him wholeheartedly in the Grand Prix.

"I didn't really understand until I thought about how I'd feel, if you tried to leave," Rex admitted. He wasn't looking at Speed at all, eyes hidden behind the mask. "I was wrong. And I hope you won't make the same mistake."

A feeling of warm relief spread up through Speed's chest. "The family's learned something in ten years, too," he said, trying for a light tone. "If I tried it they'd only drag me back."

Rex snorted a soft laugh. "Saw that at Casa Cristo, didn't we? You should've heard the security guards talk about you all."

The next thought drained Speed's good humor. "But you're going to leave again, aren't you?" He tried not to make it an accusation, though it really was.

"Yeah," Rex breathed on a sigh. "There's too much to do; Royalton's not the only problem." A quick smile, lopsided but genuine. "But I won't be alone. I've got Elena to watch my back, and all the other agents; and I have a family to come home to again. I've lasted this long, you're not going to lose me now."

It didn't stop the worry, but Speed recognized the stubborn determination that he had always shared with his brother and knew there were some things that couldn't be changed. "Just be careful," he couldn't help saying.

Even now, all secrets revealed, his brother apparently could only take so much of the unaccustomed openness. "Why don't we pick up the pace a little?" he suggested. The car roared eagerly.

Speed grinned, and for the moment, the long years separating them didn't seem to matter much at all.

end part one


	2. Chapter 2

Part Two

The silence had a focused quality to it, and Elena admitted to herself that she'd never before felt so intimidated by...well, anyone, really. But especially not by such kind and honest people. She'd faced down murderers with less trepidation than sitting here in the C.I.B. van, her husband's family pretending not to stare at her.

The Inspector had provided the vehicle, an armored transport, and a C.I.B. driver, but he'd gone himself to deal with Taejo Togokahn's evidence. It was the driver who'd conducted the family safely past the reporters, with a few strong reminders about the privacy laws that prohibited news media from approaching a private residence without permission. Elena had been waiting in the vehicle, out of sight. She avoided cameras wherever possible.

And now the silence had stretched almost fifteen minutes. Spritle and his chimpanzee watched her openly, but for once the boy was waiting for someone else to ask the first question. Trixie's little smile hadn't faded yet, and her eyes were distant, probably wondering how Speed was getting on with his brother. Sparky had been examining the interior of the compartment so long it was obvious he was avoiding eye contact. And Elena couldn't seem to look at her parents-in-law.

She ought to say something, to acknowledge the part she'd played in the family's pain and apologize somehow. The trouble was, everything she could think to say began with _I wanted to tell you_, which left Alex as the one who'd insisted on the secret. However accurate that might be, Elena had no intention of causing any more trouble between her husband and his family.

"Is it safe to talk here?" Mom Racer finally found words to end the uncomfortable silence.

Elena hadn't even considered that as a possible reason for their reluctance to speak, though now she realized that after the three consecutive lectures on secrecy Alex had given to cut off this sort of conversation in the hospital of course it would be on their minds. "Yes, it is," she assured them. "This vehicle is secure, no one is listening in. We'll make sure the house is a safe place, too."

A collective sigh of relief blew away more of the tension than Elena expected, and almost at once Spritle demanded, "Did you always know he was Rex?"

She winced. "Yes, I always knew." The simple answer was better. "I was working for the C.I.B. before Rex signed with Uniron."

Elena had never forgotten her first meeting with Rex Racer. The young driver had reminded her, with a foreboding pang, of Garrett Michaelson, the man her mother had loved, that last year--handsome and self-confident, addicted to the track and to the cars, and so very, very trapped. She'd wanted to blame Michaelson when Benelli killed her mother, but then he'd tried to turn on Benelli anyway and been murdered himself, which made it hard to resent him properly for making her mother a target.

At the time, she'd rather felt that any driver who worked for Benelli deserved whatever they got. Rex, though...he'd been different. "I've been protecting him a long time," she murmured, lost in memory.

* * *

_Eleven years ago_

Today she was Leena Price, neither elegant nor modest, and her clothes attracted plenty of attention but no one was looking at her face. The road was crowded with spectators, most of them criminals of one stripe or another, craning for a better view and betting on the outcome of the challenge.

She didn't enjoy this sort of role, and the Inspector would never have asked it of her. But Leena fit here in a way that none of the identities the Inspector had provided ever could, and right now Minx needed that invisibility.

Actually, the Inspector was going to be quite upset when she reported in, assuming she chose to include all the details. He was a good man, and Minx knew very well how much she owed him, but there were days when he apparently couldn't decide whether to treat her as his agent or his daughter.

How he'd picked up _that_ notion, Minx had no idea. The concern was kind of nice but the lectures could get awfully tiresome.

The crowd was focused on the bright orange and yellow car of Fury Farnell, an appropriately nicknamed man whose hair was dyed to match his vehicle. Officially, Farnell drove for Uniron, the same company who now sponsored Rex Racer. Unofficially, Farnell had been working for Benelli long enough that he was often rewarded with wins where corporate concerns permitted.

So far, Rex Racer had only followed instructions to prevent undesirable drivers from making any kind of notable finish, but he'd done it with a flair that had unfortunately attracted Fury's attention.

The drivers connected with the criminal underworld challenged each other regularly, because they were drivers; because they were seldom better than criminals themselves, the challenge races were violent and rife with sabotage. Injury was common, death less so but always a possibility.

Minx strolled through the crowd in a leisurely fashion, aiming for the relatively uncrowded area around Rex Racer's car without ever quite looking at it. The trick was not to _look_ like she was in a hurry.

With a seductive sway that would offer adequate explanation to any observer, Minx made the final approach to the bright red car. It wasn't the track car Rex had driven in the races, but a brand-new one, suitable for road driving or rallies, provided by Uniron as an extra benefit to their newest driver.

Behind the wheel, Rex Racer hit the ignition, head tilted slightly as he listened to the sound of the powerful engine. His face had grown harder in the month since she'd last been this close, but it bore no trace of the malice that marked Farnell and others like him.

In general, Minx didn't like drivers. All of them were arrogant, to more and less harmful degrees, and aggressive driving on the track too often spilled over into aggression off the track. And all of them working for Benelli were by definition her enemies, because Benelli was going to trial, whatever it took.

Rex Racer shouldn't have felt much different from all the rest. Certainly she shouldn't trust him, shouldn't let him know where or who she was after the initial contact. He was a desperate man, and it was quite possible he would decide that turning her in as an agent would make his family safer.

And yet there was something about him...she hadn't even paused to question what she needed to do.

The young man didn't see her until she leaned in over his window, and then his eyes narrowed in wary recognition. Minx ignored this, and put all the urgency her expression didn't dare show into her voice instead, soft and sharp. "Farnell bribed your mechanic. You've got a faulty tread on the left front wheel. Can you compensate for it?"

The road ahead was mountainous and full of sharp turns, and not known for its safety. A skid on the wrong curve, especially with an opponent who knew to expect it, could easily send both car and driver over a cliff edge. If Racer couldn't handle it, she needed to figure out some kind of delay fast. There was no way to simply call off the race.

Racer's face hardly changed, but his frown got a little deeper. "I can manage," he said curtly.

"Good." She had to trust he wasn't overestimating his own ability. "Check your Kwiksave again," she added anyway. "It's probably been disabled."

"Why are you telling me?" he demanded, harsh and suspicious still. "I'm _not_ working for you people."

_Not yet_, Minx thought. That was true enough, Racer had yet to use the number she'd provided him. And honestly, she wasn't supposed to be getting this involved. It was dangerous for him to know she was still around, watching out for him. The Inspector wouldn't be pleased with the risk she was taking.

She couldn't possibly explain something she barely understood herself, not to his satisfaction in a few seconds. Minx offered a sultry smile instead, for the benefit of anyone watching. "I like you, that's all," she purred, and moved away, aiming for the next handsome, well-dressed young man. Leena Price was always welcome.

What made Racer different? Maybe it was only that he was the best hope yet of getting evidence to link Benelli to the Uniron corporation, but she couldn't help remembering the pain in his eyes when she'd mentioned his family at their first meeting. Minx had watched him cut all ties to keep his family safe. Not many drivers would go so far, and she could tell it hurt him, convincing everyone he didn't care about the people he loved most in the world.

_ He'll make a good agent, if we can just keep him alive long enough_. She'd put it that way to the Inspector, who'd laughed at hearing her repeat almost exactly the same words he had once used of the stubborn, revenge-driven girl she'd been three years ago.

Minx needed to keep him alive. It was that simple; why complicate it with explanations? She was going to keep him alive. Whatever it took.

Some enterprising soul had set up a large screen to one side, and the crowd drifted in that direction as Farnell shouted a bit more abuse in Rex's direction. The young driver pulled into position beside him without bothering to respond. This was strictly a challenge; there were no other cars.

The image jittered nauseatingly on the screen as the amateur cameraman adjusted to the motion of the helicopter. One of Farnell's more attractive girlfriends brought down the flag, and both cars roared away.

Minx chose not to join in the general shouting. Most people were supporting Farnell, because it was safer, except for the gamblers who had taken the higher risk and put money on Racer instead. It would have added to her cover to cheer Farnell on, but she couldn't bring herself to do it.

Drivers were always too confident of their skills. She only hoped Racer had found whatever the greedy mechanic had no doubt done to his Kwiksave.

The red car had taken an early lead, Farnell tucked in just behind. Around the first few gentle curves up the hillside, there was no evidence of trouble. Then Racer took a hairpin turn almost without slowing, and began to skid uncontrolled toward the flimsy guard rail.

Minx felt her heart leap into her throat and choke off her breathing. He'd gone at that turn with no caution at all, had he even been _listening_ to her?

Farnell moved in to make the shove--

And Racer turned into the skid and flung his car into a full spin, slamming into Farnell at such an angle that the orange car rubbed harshly against the cliff face, leaving streaks of paint behind. Racer was off and away before Farnell could correct his momentum.

She took a careful breath, hands trembling, and watched Rex Racer take the next few curves widely enough that the skid never even began. Oh yes, he'd been listening. And he'd made that dangerous play to ensure no one suspected that he already knew about the problem.

_He'll make a good agent_, she thought again, and couldn't quite keep from smiling.

* * *

_Present_

Too many details about that dangerous time would only make the family fret about her husband's safety, and Elena didn't want that; it was easy to see they were already worried enough. She simplified that entire period in their lives to, "He didn't trust me at first, but I warned him if another driver had something planned."

"So you met him as Rex?" Mom Racer said, eyebrows up in surprise. "If you've always known about the family--We never met back then, did we?"

Elena shook her head. "I always wanted to meet you," she answered honestly. "It was too dangerous. It's a risk even now, but it would have been much worse before."

"Why didn't Rex _tell_ us?" Elena had only spent a week's time with the Racers, but she knew already that Pops didn't often sound so subdued. It was regret in his eyes, not the anger Alex still dreaded facing, and for her husband's sake she was glad of it. "He let me think--if he'd explained, I'd never have said--he has to know that, surely?"

"He knew," Elena affirmed quietly. "It's a conversation you'll need to have with my husband, but I can tell you that he was only ever trying to protect you all, the best way he knew how. Benelli was a very violent man, and very persuasive."

Her father-in-law's face went suddenly hard with memory. "That bomb in the package," he spat. "That's when Rex started acting strangely, I should have known! He told me it was some rival driver, said he'd take care of it..."

"How safe is Rex _now_?" Mom Racer interrupted, looking anxiously from Pops to Elena. "All the risks he takes on the track are bad enough, but the people shooting at him, the ninjas, how often does this sort of thing happen?"

In point of fact, it happened a good deal more often than Elena liked, and there wasn't much she could say that would be comforting to worried parents. "Alex is very good at what he does," she began, words coming slow. "It isn't a safe job, but it's necessary. He's saved a lot of lives."

"But surely someone else could do it," Mom Racer appealed. "Hasn't Rex done enough already?"

Elena's mouth twisted in complete sympathy. "If he wanted to stop, no one would argue with him," she agreed. "The Inspector's offered him quite a nice retirement package twice that I know of. But this is important to Alex. And honestly, no, there's no one else who could possibly drive the way he does."

The pride and worry intermixed on the faces of her in-laws at this statement warmed Elena, it being precisely the way she felt most of the time. "If it's that important to him, we'll support him however we can," Pops announced, decisive. "Took me a couple tries to get this thing right, but I'm not making the same mistake again."

His wife leaned into him and wrapped an arm around, giving and receiving comfort.

"How come you still call him Alex even though we all know who he is now?" Spritle sidetracked the conversation with a curious look.

Elena offered a wry smile. "It's safer if I don't think of him as Rex. I'm less likely to slip in public," she explained. "Actually, he'll probably insist the rest of you do the same. There are still people who would be very unhappy to learn that Rex survived."

There was a general wince at the reminder. "No problem," Pops said hastily. "We've been calling him Alex for a week already, it's a good name."

"I, ah, wanted to say." Elena's carefully cultivated confidence slipped farther away from her with every word. Apologizing seemed like such a feeble gesture when she thought how she would have felt if someone had conspired to make _her_ believe that her mother had died when it wasn't true. Or Alex, for that matter. "All these years when you didn't know--I'm so sorry."

Her mother-in-law had tears in her eyes, but there was a genuine smile under them. "I'm glad he found you, Elena," she said sincerely. "After he left, I was worried most of all that he was alone. It can't have been an easy life for either of you, but I can still recognize my son, and I know it's because of you. Thank you for protecting him."

Elena's responding nod was jerky, and her own eyes were full. "Always," she murmured, clasping her mother-in-law's hand in silent pledge. "I can't say it's not dangerous, but I'll keep your son safe if I possibly can."

"And yourself, too," Pops Racer put in, smiling at her. "I think I'm going to like having a daughter. We'd like to keep you."

It was a strange feeling. For a week she'd been on the fringes, almost like family but never quite comfortable however she pretended, her husband's identity a barrier between her and the welcoming Racers. Now it was gone, and she really was family.

It was a strange feeling, but she very much wanted the chance to get used to it.

* * *

Notes: Sorry it's taken longer than before, and I can't promise the next one will be any faster. Real life unfortunately interferes. Next part's about Sparky, though. Hope you like this--whether you do or not, please review!


	3. Chapter 3

Coming Home

by Dawn

Part Three

Rex was _alive_.

He'd gotten stuck on that thought a while back, like an engine with a faulty starter, unable to move past it however many times he tried. Alex was Rex, Rex was Racer X, Rex was married, all of it would probably matter sometime later but right now he didn't have the room to process any of it. Rex was alive!

Sparky had the feeling there'd probably been a vague, stupid smile on his face ever since the revelation in the hospital room. Certainly he'd been drifting about with his mind more than a decade away.

With a name like Wilson Sparkolomew, he probably would have had trouble with his classmates regardless of any other factors. He was also short, new, not academically inclined, and couldn't care less about any sport that didn't include engines. In the seventh grade, it was a situation made for disaster.

Rex Racer had been the amazingly cool high-school student whose friendship automatically made Sparky cool by association. No one made fun of him after Rex, already winning all the Thunderhead junior division races, made it known that Sparky was a genius mechanic. It had been Rex who first called him Sparky, too.

He'd spent more time at the track and at the Racer house than in his own home, empty while his father worked long hours. Speed had grieved with him after Rex's loss, because they both knew how it felt to lose a brother.

But Rex was alive, and while Sparky might eventually be upset over the lost years, right now he could only be grateful for the miracle.

Lost in the past, he'd been listening to Elena with no more than half an ear. Then he heard her pledge to Mom and Pops. "I'll keep your son safe if I possibly can," she said, and Sparky froze.

It was a feeling not unlike being hit with a socket wrench, only less painful. He looked across the compartment at Rex's wife, and a slow smile of recognition crept to his face as the memory absorbed him again.

* * *

_Eleven years ago_

The Mach Five took on the same shimmering color as the clouds in the light of early sunrise, with her own metallic sheen that to Sparky's eyes outshone the sky completely. He trailed a hand along the white curve of the hood, glancing guiltily at the silent Racer household. He shouldn't be here. Stopping here on the way to the airport was just asking for trouble, he had no good reason to be here.

He and Rex had built this car together, from engine to final waxing. Pops Racer had designed it and encouraged them along the way, but it had been Rex's special project. Sparky sighed, searching his memory again for any hint that Rex had wanted more than Racer Motors and an amateur mechanic best friend could give him. In his memories, Rex had always seemed so...content.

But maybe that was only because _Sparky_ had always been content with the way things were...

"You're going to see Rex, aren't you?"

Sparky jumped violently, one knee slamming into the Mach Five's door with a solid thump. He'd completely failed to notice Speed before. The kid was huddled into the passenger side of Rex's car, arms locked about his knees. "Um," he said, buying himself time, and leaned over to check the smooth metal to be sure his carelessness hadn't left a dent. And so he wouldn't have to meet the painful hope in Speed's eyes.

He'd told his dad that Rex had sent him a ticket to Fuji. That was a complete lie. Rex hadn't bothered to send him so much as a postcard since storming away from Racer Motors and signing with Uniron. But Sparky couldn't stand the thought of having company this trip, and his father wouldn't have let him go alone if he'd admitted Rex probably didn't want to see him.

And he had let the Racers believe it was a vacation that had nothing to do with racing, something to get his mind off Rex, because they would ask too many questions if he even mentioned Fuji.

With two different false stories well prepared, Sparky could have lied to anyone else. But not to Speed, not looking at his own pain in the young face. "I'm going to try," he told the boy after a moment, honestly. "But I don't know if Rex will talk to me."

"He's got to," Speed insisted, scooting to his knees on the seat to meet Sparky at something closer to eye-level. "I don't know why Rex's mad at us, but he can't be mad at _you_. You weren't even here."

Nice interpretation; Sparky wished he could believe it. The guilt of being on the other side of the world when his best friend needed him still twisted unpleasantly in his gut. A few weeks visiting family in Australia, and everything had fallen apart here. He could only shake his head wearily, and repeat, "I don't know, Speed."

The kid looked down, and the key to the Mach Five clinked as he twisted it around his fingers. The Mach Five belonged to Speed now, but to the two of them it would always be Rex's car. "I just--can you ask Rex for me why he's mad? Tell him Pops is sorry? And we all want him to come home, we miss him. He won't--I tried to send a letter, but--please tell Rex I love him, that's all."

Sparky ducked his head. He wanted desperately to convince Speed not to blame himself, but knew the boy would only accept that if it came from Rex. "I'll tell him," he promised instead, because there was nothing else to say. "If I find him, I'll tell him."

"Okay," Speed breathed, and managed a smile, though his eyes were damp. "Have a safe trip, Sparky. You better go before Mom or Pops see you here."

It was good advice, and Sparky took it, heading to the airport in plenty of time for his plane. The flight to Fuji was completely uneventful, allowing far too much time to think as

he drew nearer to a confrontation he knew he would never be ready for.

All the hotels catered to the race fans, the Helexicon being the major tourist event of the year for the little group of tropical islands. Even the cramped, musty inn Sparky had chosen as best suited to his small budget offered free transportation to the racetrack, though it was a crowded bus that stank of too many people in humid air.

He'd come up with a lot of plans for finding Rex, most of them stupid enough that even someone as young as Speed could have pointed out their flaws--but in the end it was as simple as recognizing the red Uniron transport when it arrived. Sparky scrambled to reach the entrance gate before the car, and Rex, were lost to the confusion of the track.

Rex was not such a well-known driver that reporters paid him much attention, not when there were so many other and more notable celebrities about. Once the race officials let the car enter, no one was around but two burly men in coveralls with the Uniron logo splashed across them. Sparky would have preferred to have Rex's new mechanics out of earshot for this, but there wasn't going to be a better chance. He wiped sweaty palms on his jeans and hurried forward.

From a distance Rex had looked exactly the way Sparky remembered him; closer, the tension in his clenched jaw was harder and colder than the excitement Sparky had always shared with him before a race. "Rex!" he called, voice not so confident as he would have liked.

He'd imagined about a hundred different reactions Rex might have to seeing him so unexpectedly, but none of them had included the flicker of sheer panic. It was gone almost at once, but Sparky knew Rex too well to miss it.

The contempt that replaced it was even worse. "Sparkolomew," Rex sneered, and there was no welcome in the tone at all. "Come to sneak a look at a proper car, for once?" The Uniron mechanics snickered appreciatively.

Sparky faltered. Even with all he'd heard about the bitter argument, he hadn't expected this from his best friend. "You always loved the Mach Four!" he protested defensively. Pops Racer had done the actual design work, but Sparky couldn't help feeling a certain proprietary interest after all the times he'd helped get the car ready for the track and repair it afterward.

"You thought we were really friends, didn't you?" Rex laughed. It was a harsh, cruel sound, and Sparky had never heard anything like it from Rex before, not even aimed at the worst schoolyard bullies and idiot drivers, the ones he knew Rex hated. "I only needed a half-decent mechanic to back me up, and you worked for scraps of praise--cheapest I could find. I don't need you anymore, you or those junk-heaps my old man builds. I have a real team now."

The malice in Rex's voice cut through all Sparky's good intentions, and curled bitter on his tongue. "Speed wants to know what he did to make you angry enough to leave," he spat. "Maybe he ought to be asking what he did to be stuck with a brother like you in the first place."

It was fury and pain that flung the words like weapons, and Sparky saw them strike home in Rex's almost imperceptible flinch. But there was none of the reaction he'd hoped for, no denials, no sign of the Rex Sparky knew. "Run on home, Sparkolomew," Rex said, cold and distant as to a complete stranger.

The car accelerated past him. The closer mechanic took the opportunity to shove him, smirking as Sparky stumbled backward and fell with a bruising thump on the pavement.

Then they were gone, and Sparky was alone with his wounded pride, breathless and definitely not close to tears.

For a long moment, going back to the cheap hotel with its water-stained wallpaper and mold on the ceiling was infinitely more tempting than staying to watch the best friend he'd apparently never known. In the end, though, he stayed. This was the Fuji Helexicon, one of the races he'd always promised himself he'd see in person someday, and he'd already spent his savings on the nonrefundable ticket. If Rex had torn apart the last five years of his life, well, at least there was a race to watch.

He would have to tell Speed something. _I couldn't find Rex,_ Sparky rehearsed mentally. _Sorry, Speed, the track was just too crowded, I couldn't talk to him...I never found him._ It didn't feel like a lie. Their Rex, the older brother who Speed loved, would never have said those things.

Sparky's eyes kept drifting toward Rex in spite of himself, as the cars lined up on the track. Something was wrong with the way Rex had acted, but nothing had been right since Rex left. If that kind of contempt had always been there, and he just hadn't seen it--but how could he have missed it? For five years they'd spent virtually all their free time together, working on one or another of the cars Pops Racer had designed.

No, the change was too sudden, it had to be something about signing with Uniron that had caused it. Sparky tried to picture Rex falling in with the professional crowd, trying to fit in by renouncing his independent background...had Rex convinced himself what he'd claimed was true?

But Rex had never been one to follow a crowd. In high school as on the track, Rex had always insisted on going his own way--ahead of everyone else.

_You were the cheapest I could find..._the words still hurt, like shards of glass in his mind, coming to the surface again and again.

He didn't want to watch Rex, but somehow his eyes still weren't getting the message, because he couldn't seem to look anywhere else. Rex was doing the usual pre-race checks, now his mechanics had left him to head up to the spotter box. And of course trained, professional mechanics would be better than Sparky was, but how was that his fault? He was still in high school, Rex had no right to expect--

Sparky frowned, the rhythm of his thoughts broken by an unexpected change in Rex's actions. He knew the usual checks by heart, but Rex had pulled out a little box and plugged it under the seat. That was a Kwiksave diagnostic, and there was no reason for _Rex_ to be running it. That was a mechanic's job, to be sure the car was in perfect condition before the race. Rex should only need to check the settings, make sure the safety mechanism could take a few normal hits without ejecting him.

Rex had never once felt the need to run a Kwiksave diagnostic while Sparky was in charge of his car.

Which meant Rex didn't trust his new mechanics, his trained mechanics, his _real team_.

There were probably other explanations, Sparky tried to convince himself while the engines revved below and the race began. And whatever the explanation was, Rex obviously didn't want his help.

But five years of friendship didn't vanish so easily under injured pride, and Sparky thought, _If Rex can't trust his mechanics, then he's in danger._

The race itself only worried him more. Rex had always been an aggressive driver, but he had only scorn for anyone who refused to show the usual track courtesies--messy driving, he called it. But now, on two separate occasions, he saw Rex purposely drop back to ram someone he could just as easily have passed without incident. Neither of the opposing cars were destroyed, but both were off the track, badly damaged, and out of the race.

And for all the fury in his driving, although Sparky knew Rex could have caught the lead cars, in the final lap he dropped back to fifth place.

_What's going on, Rex?_ There had to be something he was missing, something that would make sense of all this.

But Rex didn't want his help. He ought to go home, leave Rex to whatever business he'd gotten mixed up with, go home and help Speed forget about his brother.

Torn, Sparky lingered in the stands as the spectators filed out. Another confrontation like the first would only make things worse. Maybe it didn't even matter, because he didn't think he could find Rex again whether or not he wanted to.

Someone bumped into him from behind. "Sorry," Sparky mumbled automatically--then froze as he felt a slip of paper pressed into his hand. He spun to find who had done it, but there were too many choices and whoever it had been vanished into the crowd.

He unfolded the paper curiously, and read it. Cryptic directions to wait half an hour in a specific room--_unless you don't want to speak to your friend._ There was no signature, only an additional scribble, _Destroy this note_.

It was probably some sort of practical joke. But by the time this occurred to Sparky he had already found the room, a maintenance closet that had apparently been abandoned in favor of the larger storage space down the hall, and was occupied shredding the paper into its component molecules. He had to know what was going on. Even if this was just so Rex could laugh at him again, he had to know.

The note had said half an hour, but according to the clock on the wall it was only about twenty minutes before he heard Rex's voice in the hallway, an urgent hiss. "What do you think you're _doing_, Helen? This isn't safe--"

"No, it isn't," a girl responded sharply, "so shut up."

Sparky opened the door without thinking. Rex stood just outside, changed out of his driver's uniform into a T-shirt bearing a large Uniron brand. The person beside him might have been either gender except for her voice and name, a slender, dark-skinned individual whose loose clothes and short hair gave no definite clues. But she smiled at Sparky, and somehow he felt better for it.

He met Rex's gaze with trepidation. Was this Rex, or was it the stranger who'd spat venom at him? How well had he really known his best friend?

But the look in Rex's eyes made Sparky think of a rabbit sitting on the racetrack, just as it noticed the noise of approaching cars, and worry took precedent over the anger. "What's going on, Rex?" he asked, with honest concern.

"You have about ten minutes," the black girl said briskly. "Talk in there, no one will hear you. I'll keep watch." She shooed them both into the little room and shut the door.

Sparky blinked after her. "So you've got a girlfriend now?" he wondered aloud.

"Don't be an idiot, I hardly know her," Rex replied, and the irritation was so familiar that Sparky grinned. Rex had never liked being teased about the many girls who found him highly attractive. Whatever had happened, this _was_ Rex, and the knowledge settled the worst of the sharp-edged pain.

Ten minutes wasn't much time for explanations. "Whatever you're doing, let me come with you," Sparky said abruptly, because it was more important.

Rex's eyes went wide and guilt-stricken. "I--Sparky--what I _said_--"

"You didn't mean it," and it surprised Sparky a little how certain he was of that. "I saw you checking the Kwiksave, you don't trust your mechanics, you need someone you can trust." The thought of Rex driving a T-180 checked by someone incompetent, or worse, actively malicious, bit into Sparky's gut like acid. "Let me help."

The stunned gratitude in Rex's face warmed Sparky, though Rex shook his head almost at once and said, "You can't. This is something I need to do alone."

"You can't tell me what you're doing, can you?" He already knew the answer to the wistful question before Rex slowly shook his head again.

"This can't last long." Rex said it like a prayer. "I'll come home...eventually. But someone's got to watch out for Speed, and I can't do it. That's what I need you to do, Sparky, for me. Look after the family. Please."

Sparky swallowed. "Just be careful," he managed, through a dry mouth. "We all want you home. It's you that Speed loves, and your parents. I can't take your place."

"When it's safe, I'll come home," Rex promised.

If Rex was really leaving, cutting off all contact, the family wouldn't hear from him at all-- "What am I going to tell Speed?" Sparky panicked aloud. "He made me promise to ask why you were mad at them, ask you to come home..." The thought of disappointing the child was additional pain.

Rex grimaced. "Tell him my contract says I can't talk to my old team, and I can't get out of it. Tell him that I want to come home and I will as soon as I can."

It was a good solution, tailored to Speed's worries. It would go a long way toward making the horrible situation a little more bearable for Speed. Sparky wondered how true the explanation was, but he didn't say anything, because he knew there was more to the message.

The faint whisper of a sigh. "Tell Speed I love him," Rex added, quietly. "And thank you, Sparky. For finding me." He offered his right hand.

Secret handshakes had been the coolest thing ever for a brief period while they were in school, but the stage had passed and Sparky hadn't thought about their secret handshake in years. Somehow it seemed the most fitting symbol right now, though. _Always friends_. Sparky made the requisite four changes in grip and one twist smoothly enough they might have been burned into his muscles, and Rex matched him.

"So...who _is_ Helen?" Sparky wanted to know. For someone Rex hardly knew, it was strange behavior.

Rex shrugged. "She's helped me out. I guess I trust her." It was more of a grudging admission than any sort of compliment. But the reminder made Rex glance at the time. "I should get back or they'll wonder where I am."

Reluctantly, Sparky opened the door. "Be careful," he ordered Rex again. "Stay safe." As though it would do any good. People didn't climb into T-180s because they were disposed not to take risks.

A gentle clap on the shoulder, the gesture Sparky knew to mean _I can't promise, but I'll try._

Then Rex was gone, hurrying down the corridor past where Helen leaned casually against a wall. If they said anything to each other, Sparky couldn't tell.

Helen approached him then, and Sparky didn't especially want to face the compassion in her eyes. But she only said, "You should wait another few minutes before you leave."

Sparky nodded, because it made sense, if they didn't want anyone to realize he and Rex had spoken. "Thank you," he said. There ought to be more, what she'd done was priceless to him, but he had no other words to express it.

The girl ducked her head slightly. "He shouldn't have to lose you all," she said. "But you can't contact him again."

"I know." It hurt, but he wouldn't try, not if it would make things more dangerous for Rex.

"Listen--" she began, and stopped, and began again, "I'll keep your friend safe. I promise you."

Taken aback by the sudden intensity of the pledge, Sparky tried to find some sort of response, but before he could open his mouth she was down the hall in the opposite direction and out of sight.

He was abandoning Rex to danger and conspiracy, he had only the slimmest comfort to carry back to Speed, and it was against all reason that a promise from a complete stranger should make any difference at all. Yet somehow it did.

* * *

_Present_

Now Sparky leaned forward, until he realized he was staring at her and looked quickly away again. At a distance of more than ten years, he'd never made the connection. It was no wonder he hadn't recognized her, she'd made an impressive effort to look unmemorable at Fuji.

He'd gone home and told Speed what he could, told no one else anything at all for fear of endangering Rex. After Blackjack Benelli had gone to trial, he'd been so hopeful that Rex would come back any day now--and then had come Casa Cristo.

For years afterward, he'd tried not to remember Helen, because it was too painful. Either she'd never meant her promise and wasn't worth remembering, or she had failed somehow, and Sparky had the uncomfortable feeling that she would never have allowed Rex's death if she'd been alive to prevent it. For someone he'd met so briefly, it was strange that the thought of her death bothered him so much.

But she'd kept Rex safe after all.

Sparky bit his cheek to keep himself from smiling too broadly. Never mind that it had been years ago, he didn't like the thought of Mom and Pops realizing he'd lied to them. Which they would if he asked about it now.

When the transport finally arrived at the Racer residence, there was a great deal of confusion as everyone rushed into the house at once, eager to see Rex--an unfamiliar car was parked on the drive, and Sparky eyed it curiously.

In spite of this distraction, he managed to catch Elena alone for a moment as the family hurried in. "You were Helen, weren't you," he said.

Her skin tone was dark enough to hide any flush, but she dipped her eyes in mild embarrassment. "If you could, ah, not mention that to the Inspector," she said. "I wasn't supposed to take risks like that, and I didn't include quite everything in that particular report."

"As long as you don't mention it to your parents-in-law," he returned, with a grin, "they didn't know I went to Fuji." Then more seriously, "I just wanted to say--thanks. For that, and for keeping him alive." The guilt in her eyes hadn't faded yet, so Sparky thought she could do with a bit more appreciation. Rex was alive, that was what mattered now.

Her nod was a little uncomfortable, so Sparky let it drop and headed in after everyone else. The Racers were good at adopting people, so there'd be plenty more chances to chase away that look of guilt.

Sparky smiled to himself, full of cheerful plans for teasing Rex about the not-girlfriend he'd married. He couldn't think of a better way to welcome his friend home.

end part three

* * *

Belated author's note--forgot to add this when I posted the chapter the first time. Credit to bean15 for saying Sparky needed more attention, which is where the idea for this chapter began, and also for providing Sparky's full name, which I certainly wouldn't have come up with on my own. Thank you, bean15! Hope you continue your own Sparky story!


	4. Chapter 4

On Alex's arrival, the C.I.B. agent the Inspector had tasked with watching over the Racer home during the hospital trip helped Speed get inside, made a report of nonevents, and took himself off wearing an extra Racer X mask. Another double to confuse the unfriendly or curious eyes that C.I.B. paranoia allowed for at all times.

Raking a hand through his hair, Alex drew an uneasy breath. There was a pressure in this house, even empty; the colors he remembered as cheerful had grown painfully bright, and they shouted silent condemnation. _You don't belong here. This house is for honest people, innocent people, and you belong to the shadows._ It was worse, if anything, now that everyone knew who he was--what he'd done to the people who cared the most about him.

A quiet, pained hiss snapped his attention back to Speed, who was already half out of the armchair where he'd been deposited and carefully testing how well his bandaged leg would hold him. "Sit down," Alex ordered, with a glare that might make the order stick.

He almost expected a disgusted sigh, complete with elaborately rolled eyes, but that was the child he remembered and not this young man. Speed gave him only the trace of a frown, reclaiming his seat, and said, "Don't worry, I won't do anything stupid. The doctor said I should be fine getting around the house if I was careful."

The doctor had actually wanted Speed to use a crutch until the deep gash had sealed a little more, but Speed had already made the painful concession not to drive until given permission and was in no mood to agree. Alex didn't mention this, as he wasn't actually supposed to have heard the conversation. "Just take it easy for now," he suggested instead. "Your parents--" And stopped.

He'd spent so much time training his tongue not to betray him with claims of family that the shift back wouldn't come. Maybe it was better that way, fewer risks, but they'd inexplicably welcomed him back and he didn't want to cause any more pain by sounding as though he wanted no part of the family.

"Mom and Pops," he started again--the words tasted strange, but really, everyone called them that, "won't be happy if I let you get hurt." The _again_ tagged to the end was silent but completely understood, and Speed really did roll his eyes just a little, but surrendered by settling into the chair.

The Mach Five sat gleaming in the warm light of her home, repairs complete. She drew Alex's gaze like a magnet, sleek lines and pure white. The marks of the Casa Cristo had been hammered and polished away, but under the smooth metal and shining white paint, Minx's defenses still waited. The same, and utterly changed.

He looked at Speed, who was fiddling with the upper edge of the white bandaging on his leg, and Speed looked back--the kind of clear, candid gaze that Alex had spent years shielding his secrets from.

Alex realized that he was waiting for the alarm clock, or Elena's hand on his shoulder, waiting for the rude awakening. He'd had this dream before, the deep ache just to be sitting with Speed, no masks between them, no secrets or lies. It always ended the same way--with the bitter realization that this could never happen.

So it was with a distinct feeling of unreality that Alex watched Speed lean forward, with a spark of mischief in his eyes that could have leaped straight from the carefree child he'd been, and say, "You know you can't have the car back."

It was obvious from the tone that this was meant to be amusing, so Alex managed half a smile. "The car?" he repeated, because his sense of humor wasn't reporting for duty and he wasn't at all sure what the joke was.

"I know you want the Mach Five back, but you gave her to me," Speed declared, not trying very hard to look serious. "I'm not giving her up."

Alex knew his laugh was a little too strained. "The Shooting Star can outrun her anyway."

The retort hadn't come soon enough, though, and Speed's good humor faded into concern. "You okay?" he asked.

The acceptable answer, Alex told himself, was _Yes_. "Why aren't you angry?" he heard himself say instead.

Speed went very still, which had always been so unusual as to be a sign of dangerous concentration. "Angry?" he said at last, eyebrows going up. "At _you_?"

Alex hadn't expected the blank surprise in his brother's tone. Feeling inexplicably defensive, his gaze shifted away from Speed and toward the Mach Five again. He'd built that car, he and Sparky, but she was unquestionably Speed's car now; Rex had abandoned her as he'd abandoned his family, and run off to get killed. "I let you think you'd _buried_ me," he whispered. "And then when you confronted me, I lied to you all over again."

Shaking his head, Speed started to speak, then cut himself off and frowned. "Of course the whole thing was terrible," he said earnestly. "But I know you'd never have done it if you thought there was any other choice. You were trying to keep us safe." A rueful shrug. "And I've started to realize that, really, I'd have done the same thing if it'd been me."

Raking a hand roughly through his hair with inexpressible frustration, Alex fumbled for words. "It shouldn't be--this easy." Which sounded stupid even to him.

Speed said, rather carefully, "I think, you know, that you're angrier with yourself than any of us could possibly be."

His kid brother always had been nearly as perceptive about Rex as about cars. Alex sighed. "Now you sound like Elena."

"I've seen enough of her to know that's a compliment," Speed chuckled softly. "What made you decide to trust her, anyway? In the beginning, I mean?"

Trust. If there had to be two people in the world who could see through all his masks, he was glad they were the two he would trust with his soul without a second thought. The capacity for trust had been nearly burned out of him, working for Benelli. "I couldn't see any other choice," he admitted.

The sight of his brother's curious eyes stopped him for a moment. He'd never wanted to tell this kind of sordid story to his kid brother, the image of innocence he'd left behind in order to preserve. Speed wasn't a kid anymore, though. Speed was the driver who'd faced all the corruption of the sport and stood up to pressures from every angle to win the Grand Prix, independent and against all odds.

"She'd already saved my life by then," Alex began, letting his mind drift painfully back.

* * *

_Ten years ago_

His T-180 was sleek, the bright red metal familiar and comfortable although marred by black shadows. She had always purred for him not much differently than the Mach Four, and if he occasionally had to check for sabotage it wasn't the car who'd let him down.

And for the first time, Rex couldn't stand the sight of it.

Uniron hadn't given him a racing car--they'd given him a murder weapon. He just hadn't realized it before.

Rex shut his eyes and slid to the ground beside his rear left tire, leaning his head against the cold metal. His hands trembled, and he pressed his palms hard into the gravel that edged the road, desperately hoping he'd gotten away before anyone had seen the evidence of his anguish. Ordinarily he'd have been going over his T-180 again in preparation for the race tomorrow, but he couldn't bear to look at it. He'd fled to his road vehicle and hit the accelerator--another gift from Uniron, but he could pretend it was his own, he'd taken it apart and rebuilt it himself.

The words rang in his ears: "You just crash him hard, Racer, that's easy enough for you. A good hard shove." Benelli was right, it wouldn't take much to force a spectacular crash before the end of the first lap. Tropp was a fair driver, but inexperienced.

And if he hadn't later happened to overhear two of Benelli's thugs talking, he might have done it.

_Sabotage_. Somehow, whether it was bribes or blackmail, Tyrus Tropp's Kwiksave wouldn't be working the day of the race. "The kid might even survive," one of the hard-eyed men had snickered.

If he crashed Tropp, it would be murder. But Rex's own safety, his _family_'s safety, depended on Benelli's belief that Rex was under his control. He couldn't refuse, couldn't even pretend the kid was too good a driver; Benelli knew Rex's skills too well for that.

Tyrus Tropp was a relative newcomer to the racing world, and his only wins were from his home track in Australia and the Outback rally. He'd signed on with the Atomic Injectables, a racing team known more for cross-country than track racing. The team had refused to go along with Benelli's demands three years running, and Benelli had apparently chosen their youngest member to prove how serious he was.

Rex had never actually met the kid, but there had been a short feature on all the entrants in the upcoming race. Tropp was a slender, painfully earnest young man with enough enthusiasm to power his own engine.

He didn't know anything about Tropp's family, but certainly a kid like that mattered to someone. The thought of making that move, listening for just the right time and jerking his wheels sideways and the sharp jolt of contact, and then watching--

Over his short career, Rex had left plenty of cars in flames behind him, and never much regretted it. Knowing that the driver had no way to escape changed everything.

_The kid could be Speed_, the thought flashed unbidden in his mind, and Rex choked back a surge of nausea. Another few years, and it really might be his brother in the rival car.

He couldn't do it. He couldn't refuse to do it, couldn't plausibly fail.

A flicker of memory--the girl's dark, intent face. What was it she'd said, that first brief meeting? _A way out_. Well, he needed a way out now, all right. He'd been slow to trust her, but she'd saved his life before with no motive he could see. The C.I.B. would be able to protect the kid if anyone could, and there'd be no link between him and Tropp for Benelli to pounce on.

It was the faint scent of hope. Any hope at all would do.

The card with her number was tucked safely in his wallet. For caution's sake, Rex drove another fifteen minutes to make sure he wasn't calling from any phone Benelli might think to tap. Finally he pulled up to a car phone on the outskirts of a town too small for a name, and dialed.

At the third empty ring, his heart sank. Another--then at last the click of the receiver. "Yes?" A girl's voice, cautious and lightly accented.

"Helen?" he asked, and she could probably hear the desperation in his voice. "You were right. I need--I need help."

The pause was less than a second, but it felt longer to Rex. "The race tomorrow?" Helen guessed, sounding very crisp and efficient. "The Inspector thought something might happen. What have you heard?"

"Tyrus Tropp's Kwiksave will be disabled," Rex reported, and as the words left his mouth he could feel their enormous weight lifting from his shoulders. "Benelli ordered me to crash him--hard."

A hiss of breath. "Benelli," Helen growled, and the hatred in her voice made the name sound like too foul a curse to need embellishment. "Don't worry, Rex. I'll keep the kid safe. You do what you have to do--don't blow your cover."

Rex shut his eyes, relief flooding him. "Thanks," he managed, throat suddenly too tight for words.

"Stay safe," Helen advised him, and her concern sounded genuine. The line clicked and went back to the hum of the dial tone.

Rex set the phone gently back on the hook, and took a breath for what felt like the first time in hours. His hands, he noted absently, were perfectly steady now. Ready to race.

The next day, there was only a very minor stir over the news that one of Tropp's mechanics was nowhere to be found, and given the general commotion no one but Rex took special note of an undistinguished young lady waving cheerfully from the stands.

Rex Racer smashed young Tyrus Tropp off the track not three minutes into the race, and the commentators spent weeks harping on it as an example of Racer's dangerous and brutal driving. But Tropp's Kwiksave worked perfectly.

* * *

_Present_

Alex had retreated to stare out the window for the majority of the tale, and the sight of the familiar C.I.B. vehicle made him bring the memory to a close rather quickly. Telling Speed the shameful details of working for Benelli was bad enough without the whole family hearing.

He turned to meet his brother's eyes, which were wide in horrified sympathy, and as quickly dropped his gaze again. He didn't want to see Speed looking at him like that.

"Would Royalton have made me do things like that?" Speed asked, in a very small voice. "If I'd signed with him?"

He wanted to say no, that Speed's too-obvious ethics would have kept Royalton from ordering him into anything so blatantly illegal, but his brother's face demanded honesty. "Not right away," Alex said. "Not until he was sure of his hold on you."

Speed flinched, and Alex immediately regretted the words and the dark might-have-been they portrayed. But his brother squared his shoulders and managed to summon a cocky grin. "It didn't happen, that's what's important," he declared.

Alex hoped nothing would ever take that bright edge from his brother. He'd come far too close to stripping it away himself, but Speed's fiery spirit had broken through cynicism and despair to shine all the brighter.

The door crashed open as the Racer family entered, with enough commotion to be mistaken for a stampede. Spritle had managed to duck into the lead, and he bounded toward Speed with Chim-Chim half a leap behind. "Speed!" he called, skidding to a halt and examining both his brothers for new injuries. "Nobody attacked you on the road, did they? _I_ knew you'd be here," he added hurriedly, "but Chim-Chim was worried."

The young chimpanzee hooted soft disdain at this, but nevertheless bypassed Spritle to climb up Speed's chair and look him over at closer range. Alex suppressed a smile, then thought better of it and let the amusement soften his face, awkward as it felt.

Speed patted Chim-Chim in return, and assured Spritle, "Nobody attacked us, we were fine. Glad to be home!"

The front door thumped shut behind Sparky and Elena, the same sound that had echoed like a death knell for Rex Racer. _Home_, Alex thought, and hoped the flinch hadn't been too obvious. He looked up, and met his father's eyes.


	5. Chapter 5

Alex could only manage to look at his father for a moment before dropping his gaze to safer territory. Pops Racer had paused beside the door, taking in the sight of his three sons alive and well in the same room where the last conversation he'd knowingly had with Rex had ended with such terrible finality. There was still a kind of awed joy about his face, and none of the anger that Alex had expected.

No. That was wrong. The anger Pops hadn't yet shown was what Alex still believed he _deserved_; having spent too many years attempting to train himself out of thinking about the Racer family, Alex wasn't sure he could say he'd expected anything at all.

In an abundance of joy, his mother embraced him tightly again, though it was only a brief hug this time instead of the disbelieving cling of the first few hours. Then she moved on, still smiling as though her heart would break, and flung her arms around Elena as well. Alex had to blink and look away as his wife laughed and hugged his mother back just as joyfully.

"All right then," Mom Racer said after a moment, wiping her eyes discreetly as she pulled away, "past time for a proper meal. Sparky, Spritle, come and help me."

The two named looked up with near-identical dismay. The matriarch of the Racer family folded her arms immovably and aimed a stern look at them, which ended the argument before it began. Then she looked at her husband, and tipped her head meaningfully toward their eldest.

Alex made the mistake of looking over at Elena, who was giving him a very similar stare, eyebrows lifted. It only lasted a moment, but that was long enough. "I'll check the perimeter again," Elena said. "Speed, if you need anything I'm sure Trixie will be happy to help you." She slipped quietly away.

Pops cleared his throat, a low, uncomfortable rumble. "Ah...Alex," he began, the choice of name startling for a moment, "I suppose we should...clear up a few things...in the workshop."

_Clear up a few things_--as though the mess he'd made of his life and his family could be solved with enough application of the elbow grease his mother encouraged.

Alex thought seriously about following Elena instead, but that look had been much closer to a command than a hint. She was right, anyway, there was only so long he could delay this conversation. It had been too long already.

They entered the workshop in silence. Alex watched with increasing bemusement as Pops searched under and inside every half-finished car with a paranoid thoroughness that rivaled Minx on a bad day. "I'm sure no one got past the guard," Alex said at last. "It's safe to talk."

His father looked up, still frowning. "I don't think there's anyone in this house who trusts me not to screw this up again," he admitted. "Including me."

Alex dragged a stool closer to his father's drafting table. He ought to say something, but somehow the words wouldn't come.

Pops smiled, only a little awkwardly, as he settled into his chair. "Everyone from your mother to the monkey was hiding in the kitchen when I tried to have a talk with Speed. I really have learned my lesson, though."

Guilt pressed down heavily, and Alex ducked his head. "That night--it was my fault, not yours." By now surely Pops had realized that there was nothing in that last argument, either said or left unsaid, that would have kept Rex from leaving. "I knew you wouldn't have--I pushed you into saying those things." If his family had realized how very unwilling he was to leave, they would have insisted that he stay, fought Benelli right alongside him, and every one of them would have died. All these years later, he was still certain of that.

"I know," Pops agreed, a soft rumble. "It doesn't change the fact that I shouldn't have said what I did. I let my pride get in the way of making sure you knew how much I loved you, and I will always regret that."

How was it, Alex wondered irritably, that all his well-trained secret agent eloquence deserted him completely when he needed it most? "I didn't want to leave," he murmured, the simple words harsh in his throat. "Not for money, not for anything. But I had to."

His father's hand landed gently on his shoulder and squeezed, the approval that had never been quite enough from anyone else, even from the Inspector. "I can see that now. And I'm proud of you, Rex." The hand fell away, too soon.

Alex shook his head, feeling numb and oddly light. "When I left, like that, I made you all think I hated you, or that you didn't mean enough to me, at least." His breath was shakier than it should have been. "I'm sorry. For that. And for--I was at the funeral, I saw--I know how I would have felt, how I did feel, and I can never make up for putting you all through that."

His father blinked, startled. "You were at the funeral?"

The bitter memories were too close to dwell over. "It was Ryder's funeral too," Alex said, too curt for politeness. "I wasn't the only agent who came." They hadn't come for Rex's sake, or for Ryder; most of the C.I.B. agents who had found some excuse to be nearby during the ceremony or the burial didn't even know who had really died. Only that the fight against corruption had taken another ally's life.

Pops hesitated a moment, nodded. "You mentioned him before, in the hospital. What was he like?"

Ryder. Alex's lips twitched, involuntarily. Even after everything, it was impossible to remember the man without smiling, which was just the way he would have wanted it. "I think you'd have liked him," he said. "I met him for the first time in Kinshasa..."

* * *

_Years ago_

Rex turned the glass bottle of Coca-Cola on the table, looking meditatively at the ring of condensation. He took a good deal of care not to look directly toward the man at the next table. A dark-haired, muscular man about Rex's own height, pale skin and sunburned face marking him either a tourist or a mercenary, and from the way he'd been following Rex...

The main event hadn't even begun yet, but already Rex had decided privately that he never wanted to race in Central Africa again if he could help it. The air was like soup, thick with humidity and dust, but Rex could have dealt with that. The streets were crowded with people who assumed that he would want to give them money, but he didn't mind that.

Two people who'd placed high in the preliminaries were dead already, and three more had dropped out. He _did_ mind that.

The local independent drivers, with their African-built cars, reminded Rex a good deal of the drivers he used to race at Thunderhead--there was the same excitement about them, families coming trackside to cheer them on. Not many of them had qualified. Which was just as well, because the competition between Benelli's people and the African racing powers had become very violent very quickly.

Apparently Benelli's mob had gotten a few wires crossed dealing with the local mob, which had strong governmental ties and even fewer scruples than Benelli. Rex was not entirely clear on why the outcome of the race was so important to Uniron, but he was fairly certain his sponsor didn't much care whether Rex Racer died, as long as they still had someone to drive the stupid car. It was not a comfortable feeling, since he'd won his heat easily.

And the man now seated at the next table had followed him here from the track. He wasn't African, but he might easily be working with the locals--Africa made a good place to disappear for men who'd gotten in trouble with their home country.

Even with his attention fixed on the problem, it took a shocked moment for Rex to respond when the man actually launched himself out of the flimsy wicker chair, straight toward him. Rex shoved his own chair back, but the impact sent him to the ground with a bruising thud as a loud series of cracks broke the air--he lashed out instinctively, one foot smashing into the man's chest.

"Stay..._down_," wheezed the man, managing to sound urgent in spite of lingering breathlessness from the solid kick.

Brain at last catching up with his instincts, Rex noticed the spray of bullets that had just ripped through the air overhead and buried themselves in the wall of the little café.

"I'm C.I.B.," the stranger hissed. "Please--I need you to trust me."

Since at the moment Rex's choices seemed limited to the people shooting at him or the one who'd saved him, he nodded sharply at the dark-haired young man.

Relief poured over the sunburnt face. "Wonderful. Quick, through the alley before they try again."

Rex didn't fail to notice that as they got up and hurried, crouching, toward the indicated alley, the self-identified C.I.B. agent stayed immediately behind him and in the line of fire. Even so, he kept an eye out for any sign of sudden betrayal.

The alley stank of human refuse, but it offered swift access to the busy street on the other side of the block, with buildings irregular enough that the outlet wasn't predictable. African architecture was not well standardized.

"You're Rex Racer, of course," the man said quietly as they ran, nothing but friendly good humor in his tone. "I'm Ryder. You've got quite a kick. I _told_ Minx it should've been her on close duty, you'd've trusted her."

"Minx?" Rex demanded, a girl's face springing to mind. He had only ever met one C.I.B. agent, and the only name he had for her was Helen, though it was almost certainly not the one she ordinarily used.

Ryder pulled him swiftly from the alley toward a bright yellow taxi with rust all down the side. "Minx has our ride," he said, opening the door. The engine roared, sounding healthy enough but completely unmuffled.

A glimpse of the driver was enough to confirm Rex's suspicion. He slid across the ripped fabric of the back seat, avoiding an uncovered spring, and dredged up a smile to offer the dark-skinned girl. She smiled back briefly as Ryder climbed in and shut the door. Thankfully, cold air poured from the vents, making the temperature almost tolerable.

"Hello, Rex," Helen said. There was a strong African flavor to her accent today, and in her cap she looked just like any other taxi driver, all trace of her femininity buried in ill-fitting clothes. "How many times does this make? You should be more careful."

Rex grinned. Helen had warned him of danger on four separate occasions, engineered a secret meeting with Sparky, and once, at his frantic request, kept a young driver from dying in a crash Rex had to cause. He'd become more paranoid the longer he worked for Benelli, but he trusted Helen. Even if he didn't know her real name.

"Come on, Minx," Ryder called over the engine's noise, "Rex wants to know what we're doing here besides saving his life--eh, Rex?" It was a very strong Canadian accent, Rex realized, and since there was no reason for the man to fake it, probably genuine.

By contrast, Helen-or-Minx's accent slipped and shaded gradually back into standard American tones. "Don't worry, Rex, talking's safe enough in the car. Stay down, though, we don't want anyone to see you."

Rex slumped a bit lower in the prickly seat. "Right. What's going on?"

"Benelli thought he had a deal with the local mob," Minx said, "but it fell through. Seems he underestimated how attached President Mobutu is to his pet racetrack. Uniron won't win this one--they're cutting their losses and pulling out of the race."

"We just have to keep you out of sight until everyone gets the message," Ryder contributed.

That seemed simple enough. Still-- "Why are you here at all?" Rex asked, curious.

Ryder offered a comradely slap to the shoulder. It didn't sting too badly. "Looking out for you, of course! Inspector Detector said when you testify, it'll be the best chance we've ever had of bringing down Blackjack Benelli."

The statement struck Rex as very interesting indeed, given that he had never actually agreed to do _anything_ for the C.I.B., least of all testify publicly. He looked up and met his C.I.B. contact's gaze through the rear-view mirror. There was a shadow of guilty acknowledgment in her dark eyes, but an iron resolve.

For most of a year now, Helen had been the only person he could actually trust, a lifeline for him no matter what appearance she used to hide. She'd never asked for anything in return, but he had known what she really wanted since that first meeting. Benelli had killed her mother, and she was doing this to find justice.

"Yes," Rex said, slowly, "I think it will be."

The smile that broke across her face was like a sunrise.

Ryder took no notice of this byplay at all, exclaiming, "Can't you speed it up a little, Minx? You're in a taxi--you're supposed to be reckless!"

"You may be as reckless as you like when you're the one who has to explain the crash to the Inspector, Alexander," she said tartly. "Haven't I asked you not to call me that when we're in the field?"

The man grinned, unabashed. "How many times do I have to ask you to call me Ryder, then, eh? And is it _possible_ for you to drive any slower?" He turned to Rex, face very stern but his blue eyes twinkling merrily. "Get that seatbelt on, Racer. I can just see the headlines--_Race driver injured in tragic collision: taxi run over by speeding tortoise._"

A snort of laughter escaped Rex, startling him with its unrestrained joy; he couldn't remember the last time anything had prompted an honest laugh.

"Alexander," Minx chided, sounding more amused than irritated herself. "All the paperwork in the world is useless if I can't get you to answer to your own first name."

The man spread his hands, looking much too earnest to take seriously. "So call me Ryder, and all's well!" He leaned over to confide to Rex, "Ryder's my real name. The Alexander bit's what the Inspector thought up."

"Honestly!" Minx/Helen spared an exasperated look. "Can't you show a little discretion, Alexander?"

"It's my own name, I'll say it if I want to," Ryder said cheerfully. "Rex is on our side. You know I think the world of you, Minx. But you're awfully paranoid."

Rex's own feelings were more in accordance with Minx, but he knew better than to say so. "If I can ask," he put in, diffidently, "I only know you as Helen. What should I call you?"

Helen shrugged. "My passport says it's Nora Penley right now--mind you that's the British passport. My local paperwork says I'm Neema Ndayambaje, from South Kivu province."

The mechanics of keeping four or five identities straight all at once rather boggled Rex. "Right," he said faintly, suspecting he'd go right on thinking of her as Helen. In spite of the security issues, he didn't blame Ryder for wanting to keep it simple.

"I _know_," Ryder said with tremendous sympathy, grinning at Rex. "Someday our poor Minx is going to wake up and realize how crazy she is."

"The point is for us to go on waking up," Helen said, a low, deadly serious tone that stripped the humor out of the car. "All of us." Her eyes met Rex's through the mirror once more.

Ryder made an abortive movement, then went quiet, hunching a little as though silence was deeply unnatural to him. "It'll be all right, Minx," he blurted at last. "We'll get Benelli. Honest we will."

Hope was something Rex had left behind for his family; he'd never expected to find it again. So it surprised him as much as the others to hear himself say, "We'll bring Benelli down," and realize that he had actually started to believe it.

* * *

_Present_

Pops was chuckling at the vivid description of Ryder, as Alex had hoped, and the thick press of tension had faded to something he could breathe under. The smile of bittersweet memory grew a little stronger. Minx had guarded his heart, but Ryder was the only reason either of them had kept any sense of humor. "He was a good friend," Alex said, "loyal as family." He shook his head slightly. "To be honest, he always reminded me a little of Sparky."

"I'm very grateful that you had such good friends," Pops said. Alex could see guilt flicker again in his father's face, as it turned away. "I always--before the crash, I hoped you weren't alone out there."

Guilt, always the guilt, burying both of them. Ryder never did have any patience for guilt.

Alex drew a breath, tasting old oil and the static fizz of discharging fuel cells, the familiar scents of home. If Pops needed to hear this, then it didn't matter that Alex had done worse himself and had no right to say it. "About what you said, before I left," he began, and hesitated. The angry words had hurt, more than he ever wanted to admit, echoing in his head right up to the moment in the hospital when his father's embrace had banished them. So maybe this wasn't just for his father's sake, after all. He swallowed, and let his father's admission of regret sink into the old pain. "I forgive you, Pops. And I hope you'll forgive me," his own guilt forced him to add. "For--everything."

His father cleared his throat, a sharp noise that did nothing to disguise the glitter of tears unshed in his eyes, and nodded. "Let's just work on doing better from now on," he offered. "I know you were trying to protect us, but you have more resources now, what with the C.I.B. behind you, and we have more experience. It might not be safe for us to know everything, but don't lie to us. Deal?"

Alex ducked his head, the implicit reprimand-and-forgiveness sending him back to the days of his youth when his greatest misdeed had been messing with the cars without permission. "Deal," he agreed.

"Well," Pops said gruffly, "I guess we've got some cars we should be working on."

Racer Motors was well behind schedule, after the time spent at the hospital, and Speed's injury would keep him from working at his normal pace. It was a useful excuse. "Right," Alex said, pushing himself off the stool, and felt a wide, uncomplicated smile spring uncontrollably to his face.

The years between mattered, they would never go away, but he still belonged here. With his family.

end part five

Note: Still not entirely happy with this, but people seem to want more (hi, KamikazePanda!) so here it is. Still writing, sorry I'm so slow. Issues, you know.

This is not meant to be a realistic portrayal of the economy in Zaire, even when Mobutu was alive; it's Speed Racer, so everyone is much more car-obsessed than in real life.


End file.
